Terms of Endearment
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: Breakfast, April 10th, 1984.


Disclaimer: These aren't my characters and I make no profit from them.

**Author's Note**: It all started with the word 'donkey', which appears nowhere in this.

Many thanks to Owl and Cheri, who found many more errors than ought to be possible in a piece this short.

**Terms of Endearment**

By L.M. Lewis

If there was any justice, the guy who'd brought the paper from the front stoop would have at least gotten the sports section. But there was no justice. Or, as Hardcastle would put it, the guy who had paid for the subscription to the L.A. Times got to find out what the Lakers were up to, and the guy who'd fetched the paper could broaden his horizons a little by reading the news of the world first.

The guy who fetched, and who now had the front page propped up in front of his cereal bowl, groaned audibly and said, "I can't believe this. _Five_ of them."

"'Five' what?" Hardcastle muttered.

"Five Oscars." Mark shook his head. "That movie, 'Terms of Endearment'. It got five of them." He made a face.

"You saw it?" The judge lifted one eyebrow.

"Well . . . yeah," Mark admitted. "With Mandy."

Hardcastle hung on to his slightly puzzled expression.

"Back in November," Mark added, in clarification. "And, um, then Cindy wanted to see it."

"Cindy . . ." Hardcastle frowned, and then brightened suddenly. "January. Right after the first of the year. She was around for a while, wasn't she?"

"Three weeks. She got a little upset with me when I didn't show up for a date—we'd made plans," Mark said with a sigh. "That was that time I left in a hurry for Washington. I forgot to call her."

The judge shook his head solemnly.

"And then Vonna . . ." Mark added, with a slightly distracted expression. "You remember Vonna?"

Both Hardcastle's eyebrows had gone up briefly, then dropped back down in a furrow of concentration. "Who could forget Vonna?"

"Yeah, well, we saw it in second-run up in Encino."

"I hope she put some clothes on for that."

Mark smiled at him, nodded a little sharply, and then added, "I can't believe it got _five_ Oscars. It was . . ."

"A date movie?" Hardcastle suggested after a moment of silence.

"Pretty much. You never saw it, huh?"

The judge shook his head again.

"I don't want to ruin it for you or anything—"

"Don't worry; the last movie I saw in the theater was 'The Shootist'."

Mark gave that a considering nod, then looked a little more focused for a moment, like a man who was trying to be a good eyewitness. "Well, there's a mom, and her daughter, and the mom is sort of into managing the daughter's life. She worries about her all the time. Very controlling. It'd be enough to drive anyone crazy. So the daughter up and leaves home and marries some guy who teaches English. The mom tells her it's gonna be a disaster and it turns out she's right."

This produced a slightly knowing 'hmmph' from Hardcastle, who looked on the verge of settling into the Dodger's box-scores.

"And then there's the ex-astronaut."

The judge glanced up momentarily. "What's an astronaut got to do with it?"

"I dunno," Mark shrugged. "Mandy said he wasn't in the book. Besides, he's an _ex_-astronaut. And he gets drunk and drives a 'Vette . . . with his feet."

Hardcastle looked appalled. "This got an Oscar?"

"Five of 'em." Mark pointed to exhibit 'A', the front page of the Times.

Then he looked up again, his expression slightly vague. "Anyway, it was maybe the part abut the 'Vette that got me in trouble."

The judge's expression took on an added layer of apprehension. "You didn't go out and try a stunt like that?"

"Not drunk," Mark replied with some indignation. Then he sighed and said, "Nah, but it might have been when Mandy asked me what I thought of the movie that was the first thing I mentioned. And we mighta had a little fight about how cars shouldn't be the only thing a person notices . . . that and Debra Winger looking pretty hot—she was the daughter. She dies of cancer. Took about thirty minutes and she looked great right up to her last scene."

There was a pause. Mark was staring off over the pool and at the ocean beyond. He finally added, "And _that's_ sure as hell not the way it happens."

He broke away from his momentary reverie and glanced at Hardcastle again. The man had a very fixed expression on his face.

"Ah . . . sorry," Mark said.

"Well, don't think I'll be seeing that one," the older man muttered. Then he lifted his chin and gave McCormick a hard look, "And don't you even think about taking the 'Vette out for a spin."

McCormick produced a grin. "Works with any open-top. But you've gotta have somebody in the passenger seat willing to gun it for you. Mandy wouldn't even talk about it and Cindy said it was nuts."

"What about Vonna?" Hardcastle asked curiously.

"She would've, but honest, Judge, would you trust anybody who was willing to do that?"

"You've got a point there."

"You done with the sports yet?" Mark asked hopefully.

"No, barely started. You keep distracting me. Look," he said with a nod at page three of that section, "here's a lady who was in the '32 Olympics. She won a medal and everything. The 400-meter relay."

"You're going to hang onto it until I get tired of waiting and go mow the lawn, aren't you," Mark said with enough glum resignation to imply it wasn't even a question. "You're a little controlling, you know that, Hardcase."

The judge looked up with a sharp, quick grin. "Now you're cookin'."


End file.
